The Zombie
by Doctor7
Summary: An old terror has emerged from the swamps outside of Rayford and now wields terrible power. Is it too much for the seven survivors to handle?
1. The Swamp

The infected moved slowly through the thick swamps. But they didn't mind the thick, unyielding muck. They only cared about food. In search of it they had wandered deep into the swampland, farther than most had ever journeyed. Many had fallen victim to the snakes and alligators that called the waters home. As the creatures trudged along some of them saw the light in the distance. It was a flickering light, a light produced by an ancient lantern. As they closed in they came into a small cluster of trees. Situated there was a deteriorating shack made of rotting wood. The sparsely shingled roof sagged slightly, and the windows were cracked badly. Big black chickens pecked about behind the structure. They curiously showed no fear towards the invaders. But the infected did not care about chickens. They were focused on the light that emitted from inside the shack. The infected had learned that light meant food. They cried out in joy as they advanced toward the ancient structure. The first to reach the door was delighted as it pushed it inwards. He cried out victoriously as he spotted the lone figure inside. His clawed hands reached out for the willowy man. Suddenly the figure wrapped his boney fingers around the creature's throat.

The rest of the infected froze as they heard the screams start from within the shack. They recognized the tortured cries as belonging to one of their own. Frightened and curious they edged a little closer to see what was becoming of their dying comrade. They cried out as a blinding light flashed from the windows of the structure. They covered their eyes with their hands and moaned in pain. They didn't notice the figure who emerged from the doorway. His tall, skeletal frame stood prominent in the moonlight. An eerie green glow came from his eyes. As he looked out over the wailing creatures he leaned on his cane and laughed. His voice sounded like the wind rustling through the cattails of the swamp. It was old and creaky, as though it hadn't been used in decades. It hadn't. The figure walked out towards the infected without showing any fear at all. He stopped in front of a cowering creature that sobbed in pain as it covered its eyes. The boney being used his finger to lift the wretch's head from his hands. He could see that the eyes of the creature now had a similar glow to his own. Slowly the green-eyed infected became calm and still, as did the rest of his brethren. The figure laughed again. Its sinister tone echoed throughout the swamp.

"Did I ever tell you 'bout the time my buddy Keith got his arm torn off by Bigfoot?" Ellis asked no one in particular, "Ya see we were on this road trip to Wisconsin 'cause he wanted to get some cheese for his grandma's birthday, and then we were way up in the north woods lookin' for a Cheese factory and we got lost. So then we stopped to look at a map, and then-"

"Shut up," growled Nick. He spoke for everybody, as they were all tired of hearing Ellis's Keith stories. Even the three new survivors who had only met up with them three days ago were already sick of them.

"I hate Bigfoot," muttered Francis. The biker scanned kept an eye out as the group of seven slowly made their way through the seemingly empty streets of Rayford. But everyone knew that the infected were always there even when they couldn't see them. Their cautiousness had so far allowed them to make it to halfway through the city with relatively little injury. They were having unbelievable luck for the day as they had not seen a single tank or witch anywhere. In fact they had not seen any infected at all. The trash-strewn streets of the city were silent and unmoving. The only noise to be heard was the hurried footsteps of the survivors.

"I don't like this," Zoey whispered, "It's-"

"Too quiet, we know," finished Nick, "Like the eye of the storm." No one spoke as they continued. There really wasn't anything to be said. The wind suddenly picked up and rustled the branches of the trees. Leaves were rattled loose from their holds and fluttered to the ground. The sudden commotion startled the survivors, but only for a second. As suddenly as it had picked up, the wind slowly dissipated into nothing.

"…Weird…" Rochelle murmured under her breath.

The reason the survivors were unable to spot any infected was because the majority of them were gathered in a cemetery on the other side of Rayford. That particular cemetery was renowned as being the largest one in the county. It was filled with tombs; burials were rare in that part of the south. The stone structures looked like massive boulders in a field so large it could have housed a football stadium. The hordes of infected were laboriously busting open the heavy doors and ripping open the caskets. The eyes of the creatures glowed an unnatural green as they carefully pulled the rotting corpses out of the ancient coffins. They were dry and stiff, and their clothing loosely hung from their shriveled bodies. The cadavers were carried from their place of rest and placed in a continuously growing line. The figure from the swamp walked along the line with the aid of his cane. He examined the corpses his servants had brought him. They were a few years above of what he wanted, but they would do. He reached into his ragged jacket and produced a small burlap pouch. He pulled its drawstrings open tenderly. He could not afford to spill something so precious. The figure carefully allowed some of the contents to spill out into his sinewy palms. The strange substance consisted of several dried plants that had been ground up into a fine powder. In one swift motion the figure threw the powder over heads of about five cadavers. The clutched his cane as he waited in anticipation. Then it began. The corpses suddenly began writhing on the ground. Hollow screams came out of their dried lips as the insidious green glow lit up their eye sockets. Their bodies creaked and groaned as they began to right themselves. The infected gazed at the skeletal creatures fearfully. Even a hunter could not help but cower from the unnatural monstrosities. The being that had brought them back spoke in his raspy voice.

"Welcome back."

Nick sat with the rest of the survivors, and as usual, was in a rather unpleasant mood. His suit was covered in dirt that would probably never come out. But even though he knew it was in vain he continued to try and brush it off.

"So you three are heading for the Florida keys?" coach asked as he bit into the crude sandwich he had fashioned out of a chunk of spam and two slices of stale bread. Louis nodded in response.

"It was Bill's Idea," he explained, "He wanted to get away from the world once he figured we were…" his voice choked up with emotion. Coach could see that the three survivors from New York were still experiencing grief from the loss of their friend. From what he'd seen Coach knew that Zoey was taking it especially hard.

"Carriers," finished Francis. The biker turned away from the campfire and started cleaning his gun. Coach decided it was best not to pry at the subject any longer and turned his attention to Ellis. He was able to tell from the start that the mechanic had taken a liking to Zoey. Currently Ellis was stealing quick glances at the young woman. They were not purely feelings of lust, more of timid admiration. Coach shook his head and looked over at Rochelle. She was sorting through their supplies. This was the fifth time she'd done it since they'd stopped for the night. Coach had asked her about it on the third time she'd started, but stopped after he was met with hostility. He attributed her behavior to a nervous habit. After glancing over at Nick to make sure he was okay, Coach turned his attention back to his sandwich.

The hunter watched the survivors from the tiny window of the abandoned house. Inside five of them slept, while two kept a careful watch. Even though it was illogical to try and attack them now, every instinct was gnawing him to pounce inside and disembowel them. But he had received instructions to only scout out the area for any living humans and report them back to his new leader. If he did he would be rewarded with a tasty chicken. This thought started his salivary glands to start pumping liquid into his mouth. The foul-smelling liquid poured out of his mouth and onto the windowsill. The giddy creature ran back to tell of his find.

The skeletal figure sat on a ruined tomb, residing over the graveyard like a macabre king. His subjects had doubled in number. Among the infected now stood countless resurrected corpses. They stood apart from the diseased humans by having an advanced case of necrosis. They were truly rotting remains. At that moment the keen eyes of the figure noticed the fast-paced being that ran in through the rusting gates. He cried out in a voice that sounded victorious. It stopped at the feet of its master and looked up with its green eyes.

"Yes, Coon-dog?" The being had taken to calling the predatory members of his army coon-dogs, after the breed of canine that was used to hunt raccoons. The infected creature let out a series of screeches and shrieks. The being did not know the words it had used, but understood their meaning. He wrapped his icy digits around his cane. It had been carved in the shape of a snake. It glared out at the world with lifeless eyes fashioned out of sea-glass. Holding it as if it were a scepter the being stood up from his makeshift throne and addressed the horde.

"Brothers and sisters of the rebirth," he rasped loudly, "I have for y'all a mission. Bring me the survivors that your brother speaks of," he paused allowing for his words to sink in. The creatures might not consciously know what he was saying, but they would do whatever he told them to.

"These lowly wretches have evaded you for too long," he continued, "But with my help we will eliminate them!" There was an angry murmur that swept through the crowd. Perhaps they grasped some of his speech after all.

"But," said the being, "We won't kill them. We grow more powerful with each person we add to the horde. I intend to convert any whose hearts still beat, whose blood still runs, whose eyes still lack the shine of rebirth!" The murmur had risen to an animalistic roaring noise, emitting from all as though it came from a single monstrous creature. "Go!" cried the figure, "Go find these wretches! Bring them to me alive and unscathed!" He pointed his cane to the gates of the cemetery. The horde barreled out in a mad rush, and a few unfortunate creatures were crushed to death by their comrades. Soon the lot was empty save for the figure and a hunter who gazed at him curiously. The being soon noticed this and smiled. He reached down beside him and threw a gutted chicken corpse at the hunter. The creature cried out joyously as he tore off to join the others, his bloodied prize held tightly in his hands.


	2. Salt

Louis forced his eyes open once more. He had been fighting off sleep for some time now. It was nearly morning and they would soon be out of the house and continuing their journey. The office worker was beginning to wonder if he and his companions would ever reach the Florida Keys. It felt like years had gone by since they had departed from New York, but in reality it had only been a matter of weeks. He tried to remember his life before the outbreak. Louis could barely recall it. That life seemed eons ago. It may as well have been, for Louis knew he would never live anything close to the life he once lived. The sudden noise of breaking glass broke his thoughts. The sound had a profound effect on Louis. Instantly his gun was locked and loaded; the safety turned off. In mere moments he had changed from a friendly office worker into a coldly efficient killer. The first time this had happened Louis had been shocked and frightened at what he was capable of. But now it was happening so often he barely noticed it. Louis turned to his comrades and began shaking the awake.

"Wake up!" he cried, "Wake up! We're under attack!" The others awoke, groggily at first, but once the words registered in their minds they were up on their feet and ready to go. The sound of breaking windows rang throughout the old house. The screams of the ragged throats of the infected mixed with it to form an ear-wracking noise. The bloodied arms of the creatures reached in through the smashed windows, reaching for the survivors. The seven people began firing into the mindless crowd. There were shrieks of pain as bullets made impact. Bits of rotting flesh flew everywhere. Louis was busy reloading when he noticed something peculiar about the creatures. The sea of heads that bobbed in and out of view were different. It only took him a second to tell what it was. The eyes. The eyes were glowing a sickly greenish color.

"What the Hell?" Louis muttered to himself. He had stopped reloading and stared at the eerie creatures. He had never seen anything like it. He turned to Francis. The biker was shouting the usual profanity at the hellish ghouls.

"Francis," Louis shouted over the din, "Look at the eyes!" The Biker paused long enough in his onslaught to follow his friend's advice. Once he did he froze. He did not seem frightened; only curious.

"Huh," said Francis, "Never seen that before." He went back to firing at the monsters. By not most of the other survivors were noticing the strange luminance that was being emitted by the eyes of their attackers.

"What in the name of Mike is wrong with their eyes?" Coach wondered aloud. No one could answer him as they were too busy fending the creatures off. Nick spoke up as the reloaded.

"Question guys," he muttered as he filled the chamber with ammo, "How are we going to escape this one?" Again, no one answered. Suddenly a familiar roar filled the air. The Survivors paled as they recognized it. They stopped shooting in order to conserve their bullets. But they knew no matter how many bullets they had. A Tank never goes down easily. Already they could hear its enraged snorts as it tore through the crowd of infected. At that moment a massive wall of muscle filled the window. The scar-covered skin shone a dull gray in the light of the rising sun. The hideous face of the beast roared at the survivors as it thrust its pillar-like arm into the house. The Tank had a considerably longer reach than the rest of the infected, and forced the survivors to retreat backwards.

"Anyone got a bomb?" Rochelle asked as she fired a cloud of buckshot into the Tank's shoulder. The monster howled in pain and fury as it momentarily retreated. Louis began searching through his backpack, but he knew he didn't have one.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Rochelle swore as he realized he had just used up her last two shotgun shells. The only thing she had left were a couple of dummy shells filled with rock salt. They would sting like Hell, but wouldn't really do any damage. But maybe if she fired into the Tank's eyes… Rochelle shoved the two shells into the double chambers and took careful aim. It was difficult because the brawny creature kept thrashing about in a sporadic fashion. It also didn't help that trying to hit its tiny head was like trying to hit a knothole in the broadside of a barn. Finally when it paused to reach in again she fired. The salt made impact with its snarling face. Suddenly the tank cried out in absolute agony. The creature's roars were unlike anything the survivors had ever heard. The Tank clawed at its face. Blood began to splatter around the window frame as it wildly shook its head. It scratched so hard it began to scrape its skull clean of flesh. Finally it let loose on more earth-shaking death cry before it fell forward. As its chin hit the windowsill the green glow in its sockets ceased to exist. The survivors stared openmouthed at the dead creature.

"Whoa…" Francis muttered, "That was some serious shit right there." Louis turned to Rochelle.

"What was in that thing?" he asked in a nervous tone. Rochelle looked at her weapon with a mixture of amazement and fear. She held it out before her as though it were a holy relic.

"Just…Rock salt," she responded as she snapped out of her daze, "I didn't think it would do that."

"Salt?" asked Zoey. The moment Rochelle had uttered that word something clicked in her mind. During her extensive viewing of numerous zombie movies, salt had come up in at least four of them. But she had forgotten the significance of the mineral and what it had to do with zombies. She dredged her memory for answers. The moment of stunned silence was ended when the rest of the infected crawled on top of their fallen ally and once again resumed their attempt to enter the house. The survivors shakily began firing at the horde. The infected seemed to try even harder to force themselves in, as if compensating for the loss of their muscular comrade. Their unearthly shrieks blocked out all other noise. All the while Zoey was still thinking of salt. Salt and zombies. What was the connection? The brown-haired woman turned to Rochelle.

"Rochelle," she shouted above the screeching horde, "Do you have anymore of those shells?" Rochelle shoved her fist in her pocked and searched for a moment. She pulled out a single cartridge.

"What do you want it for?" asked Rochelle.

"Shoot it at them," responded Zoey. Rochelle looked at the ululating creatures as she loaded the single shell into the gun. She pulled the trigger and sent the salt flying everywhere. The grains embedded themselves in the exposed skin of several creatures. Their cries of anger turned into wails of pain and terror. Again the survivors witnessed the infected literally scratching themselves to death. The ones that had not been hit were shoved out of the way as the salted creatures writhed and thrashed about in agony. Zoey's eyes lit up as she remembered the correlation between the white mineral and the undead. She remembered the poorly-made B movie she had watched over spring break about the sorcerer who resurrected the dead with magic. The only way to return them to their rest was the crystal element known as-

"Salt!" she exclaimed, "Salt kills them!" She turned to her companions and cried out over the noise of the dying creatures. They were too busy plugging infected to notice. "I'll be right back," she shouted as she ran for the kitchen. Louis turned around from the fight, looking very concerned.

"Zoey," he cried reaching out, "Don't run off!" But she was already out of earshot. She was in the messy kitchen, her feet kicking the fallen pots and pans out of the way. Zoey began to throw open the cabinets and furiously searching inside. Her hands ran across cooking utensils that were rusted and broken. She opened one door after another, shoving out their contents on the floor. Eventually she found what she was looking for. The spice cabinet. Not surprisingly the salt was the one that was closest to the door. Zoey laughed triumphantly and grabbed the container in her hand. It was a small cardboard box that bore the cartoon image of a woman under an umbrella. There was a small metal spout that could be folded out of the side. It felt heavy, indicating that it was nearly full. Zoey ran back to her company and poured herself a handful of salt. She suddenly whipped down the length of the window, spreading it across all the zombies in sight. Again the horrible screeches of death began and the monsters started raking their claws all over their person. Seeing that their entire frontline had been decimated in a matter of seconds, the rest of the horde retreated fearfully. The survivors watched as the creatures clumsily stumbled out into the distance. They turned and stared at their savior, who stood with a small grin on her dirty face.

"You know what?" Francis said as he put his hand on her shoulder, "I didn't hate that."

* * *

><p>The being heard the frightened howls in the distance. He scowled as he saw the horde running in through the cemetery gates like scared children. They stumbled on their feet as they ran with their unsteady gaits. As the infected continued to swarm into the lot, the being noticed something that made him flare with anger. About one fourth of his horde was missing. Knowing that they would have been unable to do anything except his bidding, he came to the correct conclusion that something had killed them. The skeletal figure adjusted his hat to block out the rising sun as he looked over his army with a look of disappointment. The creatures timidly moved towards him. Some of them hid behind each other, looking at their leader with fear.<p>

"What is the meaning of this?" rumbled the being. The diseased faces of his horde could only look back at him in frightened silence. "Well?" he boomed, "Why haven't you brought me the living wretches?" Again, his question was met with no response. Enraged as he was the being managed to remain in control. The logical thing to do was to find out what had killed so many of his flock. He swiveled his head to look at the hunter who had brought him the news.

"Coon-dog!" he barked as he thrust a bony finger at him, "What did they do?" The predatory creature whimpered and growled, gesticulating in a manner that resembled someone throwing something and then scratching his body. The leader watched carefully. His knowledge of his dark arts allowed him to piece together what had happened. The humans had discovered the horde's weakness: salt. The spice of the living. Had these creatures been created through traditional means, salt would have not had such a painful effect on them. But having been made by his own twisted power, the use of salt was much more devastating. If the survivors were to escape with their knowledge of the horrible effects, the use of it as a weapon would wipe out his horde. The being was not about to let that happen. Through clenched teeth he spoke to his followers.

"Start digging."


	3. Man With The Hex

"Breakfast is ready," Rochelle called as she passed out the half-melted granola bars. The seven survivors hungrily grabbed them. It had only been moments ago that they had forced a horde of infected to retreat. They had to eat quickly before the monsters returned. They were also starving. Since the apocalypse food was becoming increasingly scarce. Each bite was savored as if it were their last.

"So what's the deal with salt?" Nick asked as he finished off the bar. Zoey answered him as she wadded up her wrapper into a ball.

"It kills zombies," she said as she tossed her garbage into the corner, "I don't know why it's working now, though."

"I just can't believe we never found this out," said Louis, "We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble." He looked over at Zoey. She had a concerned look on her face that hadn't been there moments ago. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she responded. Something in her voice told Louis that something was, but he decided not to say anything.

"What I wanna know is how the heck their eyes were glowing," Ellis said, "I ain't never seen anything scary as that before, except the time Keith and I were down in Florida and we saw this shark that was attackin' this kid, and Keith goes out there and wrestles him away but he got his foot bit off-"

"Ellis," sighed Rochelle, "Shut up." By now everyone had finished their bars and were busy packing everything up. Guns and canteens rattled around in the backpacks and bags that were used by the survivors. In a few minutes they were marching through the doorway and into the garbage-strewn streets. All of them paid close attention to their surroundings. The infected could be hiding anywhere.

* * *

><p>The being sorted through the various components of the burlap bag. Within it was the various little objects he had brought with him from his home. He was looking for something in particular, something that would help him with his problem. The interior of the bag had a peculiar plant-like aroma. At last he felt his hand wrap around the object he desired. He smiled as he pulled out a little leather pouch. Setting it on the broken stone the being reached into his coat and produced the dried tail of a rattlesnake. He glanced down at the symbols he had written on the floor of the tomb. Then he began to shake the snake's tail as though it were a maraca. The sharp rattling noise echoed throughout the tomb. The little pouch in his hand suddenly burst into flames. The fire ate away the leather, exposing the little mummified rattlesnake inside. It burned as well, turning into black and gray ash. As the ashes crumbled in his hand, a wispy plume of smoke rose from them. It swirled around the being's head, seemingly curious about who had released it.<p>

* * *

><p>Zoey walked along with her companions. All the while she felt a gnawing sense of dread. Her use of salt over the creatures had seemed brilliant, but now she was realizing what it had meant. The salt shouldn't have worked. Salt was only part of the Zombie myth. It shouldn't have applied to the infected. They weren't true Zombies. They were merely humans who had contracted a horrifying disease. And then there were the eyes. The eyes that glowed an otherworldly green color.<p>

There somethin' wrong?" came Ellis's voice. Zoey looked over at the gangly mechanic.

"I don't know," she sighed, "I just feel that something's not right."

"Of course," responded Ellis, "Lots of things ain't right. Like those little Jockey Freaks. You ever get jumped by one of those? One almost broke my neck once."

"I've been lucky so far," came the reply.

"Back in the big apple we didn't have any of those," Francis interjected, "Or any of those long-necked spitting freaks, or those big-armed nuts. Is there anything wrong with the water down here?" Ellis shot him an annoyed glance, but turned back to Zoey.

"You know one time Keith and I went to New Orleans, and we were at this gift shop and there was this book on Zombies. I didn't buy it, but I read a little bit of it." Zoey smiled at him a little.

"What it say?" Her interest was piqued. She knew all there was to know about cinematic Zombies and wanted to learn more about the original folklore.

"I didn't get a lot of it. It talked about all kinds of weird poisons and potions voodooists use to make Zombies."

"Voodoo?" Francis asked with a smirk, "That's a bunch of bullshit." Suddenly Nick cried out up ahead. Everyone whirled around and drew their weapons, ready to fire at anything that moved. They were shocked to see that the road in front of them was covered in hundreds of the biggest rattlesnakes they had ever seen; each one was about eight feet long. They lay curled up in coils, all facing in the direction of the survivors.

"Jesus," breathed Coach. The reptiles suddenly let out a chorus of angry hisses as they lifted their heads from their coils.

"You ever see anything like this?" Louis asked Rochelle. She shook her head, never taking her eyes off of the aggravated animals. The vertical pupils of the rattlesnakes stared back. The unblinking eyes seemed to regard the humans with cold hatred.

"I got this," Francis said as he aimed a shotgun into the middle of the snakes.

"Don't!" cried Zoey. But it was too late. The loud blast of the shotgun sounded off, echoing throughout the otherwise silent town. The spray of buckshot killed five of the snakes, reducing their carcasses into mangled piles of whitish-pink flesh and tan, scaly hide. But the rest of them remained still and silent, completely unfazed by the display of gunfire. The sound of shuffling feet could be heard in the distance. Zoey's fears were realized. The horde had heard the shotgun blast.

"We've got to get out of here," said Coach. Survivors turned around to flee the way they had come. But they could already hear the ghastly moans of the horde coming around the corner. They spotted a hunter loping around the block, his bloodied mouth open in a horrifying snarl.

"Son-of-a-bitch," swore Francis. The hunter screeched as he surged forward on all fours. Zoey grabbed the salt from her bag as the creature neared them. He was followed by an entire horde of green-eyed infected. They charged after the hunter, uttering horrid noises through their mutilated throats.

"Now what?" asked Louis as he looked back at the snakes that blocked the street behind them. No one answered him. They all knew they were trapped between venomous reptiles and bloodthirsty creatures. Nick glanced over at the half-opened door of one of the brick buildings not too far away.

"Guys," he said quietly, "Think we have a chance if we go in there?" The rest of the survivors looked over at the building. It had been a furniture store, and the large glass window in front had been smashed. But it was the closest thing available. Without speaking another word they made a mad dash for the door. Immediately they slammed the door shut. Coach and Francis threw their bodies against it to hold it closed. They struggled against the raging force of the infected.

"Outta the way!" shouted Ellis as he pushed an overturned couch toward the door. The other survivors followed his example and started moving and stacking furniture to block the door and open window. The infected fought back with surprising resistance, and managed to push the chairs and couches over quite a few times before the window was finally blocked. Still determine a few of them tried sticking their withered arms through the makeshift blockade but were met with salt thrown by Zoey.

"It's not gonna hold," said Nick as he readied his pistol.

"It'll hold long enough," Rochelle said through her teeth. Already the furniture was starting to fall as the horde tore at the upholstered obstacles.

* * *

><p>The being growled angrily as he made his way toward his horde. They were stuck clawing at a blockade of furniture. Annoyed at their inability to overcome such ordeals he decided it was best if he lent a helping hand.<p>

"Idiots!" he roared, "Out of my way!" He beat his followers aside with his cane. They backed away and whimpered in fear. As he came up to the blocked window he could hear talking. The survivors were inside.

* * *

><p>"<em>Bonjour<em>," came a voice. It rose up against the horrifying cries of the infected, who stopped their screeching as the voice spoke. It sounded deep and smooth, but had a peculiar rasp to it. It had a strange accent, sounding like a cross between a Caribbean dialect and a southern drawl. The survivors suddenly grew quiet. The voice spoke again.

"It would be wise to come out now while I'm here," it continued, "Or I'll set the horde on you again. However, if the four of you fine gentleman just send out the ladies, I'll leave."

"What the Hell?" whispered Zoey. Coach decided it was best to speak to whoever was out there, seeing as they already knew they were hiding in the store.

"Who are you?" he shouted. A dark laugh came from outside.

"Some call me Bokor Renard," said the voice, "Perhaps some of you've heard of me. I know you have, Coach." Coach's face suddenly donned a look of pure terror, but the expression was gone so fast that none of the others saw it.

"I want you seven to know that I'm giving you a chance to step out of the building and come with me peacefully. If you refuse, I'll set the horde on you and let 'em do as they please."

"Don't listen to anything that bastard says," Coach said in a fierce whisper, "We've gotta get out of here right now. Someone go look for a back door." His sudden demand caused confusion in some, but nonetheless Ellis silently went to look for another door. Coach called out through the wall of furniture.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing much," said Renard, "I just happened to see that the world was in ruins, and thought I'd rebuild it. I'm offerin' you a place in it."

"As what?" asked Coach, although he sounded like he already knew.

"As anything you like," Renard answered cryptically. The other survivors were now very confused and somewhat frightened. At that moment Ellis returned.

"There's a door in back," he whispered, "I think we could make it outta here." Coach nodded in response and gestured for the other to start moving. He turned back and talked again with the mysterious being outside.

"We ain't goin' nowhere with you," he shouted. Renard simply laughed his eerie cackle.

"That's a pity," he said, "_Attaque!"_ Suddenly the horde resumed tearing into the furniture. Coach followed his friends toward the back door and hurried out with them. They ran down a narrow alleyway toward an empty parking lot.


	4. The River

As the survivors ran into the parking lot they were able to hear the angry cries of the infected. Thankfully they were still unaware that they had left the building. Nick could hear them as they broke through the blockade of furniture. Then a loud, thundering roar of rage erupted from the distant throat of Renard. His furious voice screamed orders at the infected. As he ran Nick kept an eye out for any rattlesnakes. Last time he had nearly stepped on one. Behind him he could heard the fast-paced shuffling of the horde as it started spreading throughout the streets. He looked back to see the hunter had locked in on his trail. Nick swore as he pushed himself to sprint faster.

"Any ideas now?" he asked Coach. Coach said nothing, but instead wheeled around and emptied both barrels of a shotgun into the fast-approaching horde. The few in front howled as the buckshot entered their skulls, staggered and fell. The creatures behind them started tripping over their downed comrades. Coach then turned around and continued running. The survivors dodged down another alleyway and into a small suburban cul-de-sac. Nick almost collided with a rusted swing-set but managed to swerve around it just in time. Ellis wasn't so lucky. His foot caught on one of the poles that held it aloft, and fell to the ground with a thud. Zoey and Francis both grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. As the survivors hurried across the cul-de-sac they heard the inhuman shrieking of the infected. They were only a few paces behind them. Louis kept looking over his shoulder and fired a few shots every few minutes. Rochelle, who was in the lead, looked everywhere for a safe place to barricade themselves. As they ran through a small, ruined park she was able to see the huge river that lapped against the edge of the park. It just so happened a small boathouse was situated on the bank, nestled in a cluster of sparse trees. Rochelle motioned for the others to follow her to the wooden shed.

The door was locked, but the adrenaline-fueled strength of Francis's hand was enough to break it open. The seven refugees rushed inside and tipped a barrel over to block the door. The inside of the boathouse was full of cobwebs that belonged to gigantic fishing spiders. The pale blue of their double stripes seemed to glow in the dark boathouse. But the spiders were the least of their problems.

"There's no engine on that boat," Ellis said blankly. It was true. The only boat in the shed was a rowboat with no motor whatsoever. It was a large boat that could probably hold the seven of them with all their gear. But it was still only a rowboat.

"Who cares?" Nick said as he tossed his belongings into the wooden craft, "Those things can't follow us in the river." The others silently agreed as they threw their things in and crawled inside. Francis stood on the dock and pushed the boat out into the river, jumping inside at the last moment. By that time the infected had broken through the flimsy plywood door and were sprinting towards the water's edge. But it was too late. The survivors were already fifteen feet out into the massive river and getting farther away by the moment.

"Move your elbow," Coach said as he rowed his oar. Nick grunted as he squeezed closer to the stern of the boat. The seven were by now in the middle of the river and the slow but powerful current was pushing them downstream. Coach and Francis manned the oars, and the others supplied power by using their arms as paddles. Rochelle noticed that Louis was only sticking his arm into the water up to his elbow.

"What's the matter?" she asked. Louis looked up, and his face bore an embarrassed expression.

"I'm kind of afraid of…you know, getting it bit off."

"Alligators?" asked Rochelle as she raised an eyebrow. Louis nodded.

"They don't like this part of the river," said Rochelle, "It's too cold." Louis looked relieved. Rochelle smiled, even though she was totally lying to make him feel better. But still, alligators were rare in this part of town.

* * *

><p>Bokor Renard watched the boat as it drifted downstream. It looked tiny in the middle of the huge river. Knowing that the infected couldn't chase after them, and that the river was too deep to send out his own brand of zombies, Renard knew he had only one person to turn to. Well, it wasn't exactly a person. It was a friend, someone who he had known since he had first come to America. He would need something special to summon him from the swamps, and fortunately he had it in his bag. The skeletal being reached in and pulled out a small bag that had been made from the sleeve of a man's suit. The little bones that made up a human hand rattled inside. This gruesome artifact had been made from the remains of the last victim of Renard's friend. The suit and bones had once belonged to a bigoted preacher in the early twentieth century. He had verbally attacked and condemned the religion of Voodoo one too many times for Rendard's liking. Renard had sent his friend after him. The official report was that the preacher had drowned, but only Renard knew the truth.<p>

* * *

><p>"Who do you think he is?" Zoey asked no one in particular. All of them knew of whom she was referring to.<p>

"A mutant infected?" suggested Nick. Rochelle shook her head.

"Whatever mutates those freaks rots their brains," she said, "He wouldn't be able to talk."

"I dunno," said Ellis, "Maybe he's immune like we are."

"That wouldn't explain why they listen to him," said Louis.

"I don't care who he is," Francis grunted, "All I know is I'm going to kick his ass if I find him."

"You don't even know what he looks like," Nick said.

"He's a vampire that talks," responded Francis, "He'll be easy to find."

"We don't even know if he's an infected yet," said Zoey, "He could just be a guy who figured out how to control them."

"That's real likely," Francis said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "'cause you know they're so easy to train."

"Will all of you knock it off," Coach snapped, "Let's focus on getting outta here."

"What's your problem?" Francis asked irritably. Coach looked him directly in the eye.

"My problem is that we're all too damn focused on that freak and not paying enough attention on getting away!" he shouted. His sudden burst of anger caused a mutual silence among the group. Coach sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said apologetically, "I'm just tired."

"We all are," said Rochelle.

* * *

><p>The actual reason for Coach's irritability was that he was troubled by the mysterious being he had spoken to earlier. Coach had an Aunt in New Orleans. In his youth he spent the summers at her house. He remembered it fondly. He had many friends and they played for hours together in the backyard. Behind his Aunt's house was a massive chain of swamps. The swamps stretched for miles in all directions, and Coach remembered thinking what a great place it would have been to play hide-and-seek. But his Aunt forbade them from ever going in. She told them of a horrible, horrible creature that resided in the heart of the swamp. Bokor Renard. She told them stories of how people, young and old, would journey into the swamps and become lost. That's when Renard would find them. He was a wily and malicious old wretch. Renard was supposedly the most powerful Bokor to ever exist. He had the entire swamp at his command. Every frog, every gator would answer to his call. He would trap the unfortunate souls who had wandered into his domain and turn them into zombies to serve him for eternity. When he was little Coach was absolutely terrified of Renard. Sometimes he would have horrifying nightmares about him. It was only when he was older that he realized his Aunt had used Renard to keep him away from the swamp. Poisonous snakes, alligators, wild boars and quicksand were the real things to look out for. Renard was nothing more than a boogieman to mask the real dangers. But in the back of his mind the fear of Renard had still been there; dormant and asleep. But Renard was real now. Coach didn't know how he had gotten all the way to Rayford, but the terror of New Orleans was here. The fear in Coach's mind was awake.<p>

* * *

><p>The sun was setting as Bokor Renard sat on the small dock of the boathouse. Although he could summon his friend anytime he wanted, it would be wise to send him at night. He would be able to stalk them better in the darkness. As the last rays of sunlight faded from view Renard held out the macabre charm he had taken out earlier. He shook it vigorously, and the rattling bones inside echoed throughout the night. Then he waited. It wouldn't be long now.<p> 


	5. Alligators and Foxes

Night had fallen and the survivors were still on the river. The waters around them had become sluggish and weed-ridden. The river had taken them to the backwaters of Rayford. The rushing river had become a stagnant swamp. The stench of rotting plants and rich soil had combined into the familiar odor of swampland. Frogs of all species called out in a chorus of calls as the crickets chirped their own tune. Mosquitoes buzzed relentlessly around the unfortunate survivors.

"Ugh," grunted Francis as he swatted at a particularly large one. He missed, and it landed on his other arm. He and Coach had to take a break from rowing. It was Nick and Ellis's turn. Meanwhile Zoey was sitting at the stern of the boat, making sure that no one was following them on the banks. Long ago the sandy shores that had been at the riverside had turned into thick cattails and twisted trees. As she watched the riverside she saw little bright red orbs peering out of the reeds.

"What are those?" she whispered to Ellis. Ellis squinted at the faraway lights.

"Gators," he answered, "They're eyes are shinin'. Must be the moonlight." Zoey looked back at the little orbs. They stared back; never blinking. She averted their gaze by looking down into the water. Immediately she saw an impossibly huge set of jaws grinning back at her. Dozens of sharp teeth lined the gigantic maw as it stretched open wide. Inside it was a pinkish-white, similar to the flesh of the rattlesnakes and glistened in the moonlight. The pale coloring caused the mouth to stand out in the inky darkness. Hot, putrid breath puffed out of the mouth. It remained still. Zoey could only blankly stare at it as it floated in front of her. She was frozen with pure terror, the kind of terror that is felt when a predator is moments away from killing you. Suddenly Ellis noticed her fixation on the water and looked for himself.

"JESUS CHRIST!" he screeched. The jaws suddenly slammed shut, sending a deafening snap through the muggy swamp night. Everyone in the boat looked to the stern to see an alligator floating behind them. This was no mere alligator. This was an _enormous_ alligator, over twenty-five feet in length. The head alone was over six feet long. The armored hide was a dark green, but almost seemed black in the night. It was covered in a thick carpet of algae and moss. The beast peered at the survivors with eyes that glowed a vibrant green. It suddenly submerged its body, disappearing into the dark waters.

"What do we do?" cried Louis as he looked around wildly. He clutched his gun in shaking hands.

"Head for shore!" cried out Coach. Nick and Ellis started rowing with fear-induced strength. The boat suddenly jarred to a stop. Then it slowly lifted itself out of the water. Rochelle looked down to see the scaly back of the alligator beneath it.

"It's lifting us outta the water!" she cried as she tried to aim her gun at it. Everyone screamed in terror as the beast began to rock its body from side to side. A gunshot suddenly broke through the night air. The boat was suddenly on the surface of the water. Rochelle looked at the smoking barrel of her weapon. Then she felt the water seep into her shoes. She looked down in horror to se that she had blown a hole in the bottom of the boat. Blood lined the jagged edge of the puncture, indicating that the bullet had struck the beast. Everyone looked in wide-eyed horror as the hole continued to gush out water. Nick and Ellis began to row once more in a desperate attempt to reach shore before the boat sunk. Behind them a gigantic shape broke through the surface of the water. A monstrous bellow filled the air as the alligator turned to look at the woman who had injured it. With what only could be described as bloodlust in its eyes, the beast began to soar towards the rowboat, moving like a living torpedo. The survivors fired at it. Some of the bullets struck, but were unable to fully penetrate its thick, leathery hide. The massive jaws opened wide to reveal the horrible teeth within. The survivors were only seven feet away from shore. Zoey watched in horror as the alligator suddenly clamped its jaws onto the stern of the boat, only inches away from herself. The sound of crunching metal echoed in her ears. The mighty beast began to sweep its tail back and fourth.

"It's pulling us back!" cried Francis as he fired at the creature. The bullet streaked over the alligator's snout, but bounced off of the thick bone beneath its skin. The beast suddenly went into a death-roll, rotating its body wildly. The Survivors were thrown out of the boat and into the river.

Zoey could not recall ever feeling more terrified in her life than the moment she fell into the water. She was blind, and the noises she heard were distorted by the water surrounding her. As she bobbed to the surface the noises became the screams of her companions. Before she could make sense of anything she felt a hand grab her own. She looked up into the equally terrified Ellis as he dragged her toward shore. The two crawled wildly onto the bank, where Rochelle and Francis were pulling the others from the water. The alligator had just released the boat from its mouth and started moving toward the shore. The seven started running away from the beast as it snaked out of the water.

* * *

><p>The beast let out a hiss as it followed. Its apparent bulk was deceptive, for it could move just as fast as they could. It followed them into the trees, slithering in-between the moss covered bark. Its claws dug up earth with each hurried step. It spotted the forms of its prey ahead. It possessed powerful night vision and saw them with much clarity. The creature roared angrily as it saw them getting farther and farther ahead of it. They were too fast for it to catch on land. But it could tell the land would soon become water. It had chased them into a swamp, the beast's home territory. In a short time the soggy soil would lead into a large systems of large lakes and ponds. It would have the advantage then.<p>

* * *

><p>The seven Survivors didn't stop running until they were out of breath. By that time they were well into the woods, which it turned out was actually a swamp. The thick muck oozed into their already soaked shoes.<p>

"Now what?" Nick grunted, "We've got no supplies, no means of defending ourselves, and now we're in a swamp!"

"It could be worse," muttered Louis, "We could be in a gator's digestive tract." Pretty much everyone agreed with this statement. All the same, it felt odd to be traveling without holding some sort of weapon. Frogs leapt out of the way as they continued to trek through the boggy woods.

"Anyone know where we are?" asked Ellis.

"Somewhere south of Rayford," Answered Rochelle, "Probably near Atlanta."

"Think they're any Infected out here?" said Zoey. Nick shrugged.

"They wander all over the damn place, so probably," he said. After that there was a long silence as they walked through the woods. The deeper they went in the worse it became. Pools of water were dotted in-between the mossy trees. The surface of the murky water was covered with algae, and some sort of greenish slime. Thick, sharp, saw-toothed blades of grass that came up to a man's waist sprouted out of the ground. Someone occasionally tripped over a hummock or an exposed root and landed in the warm muck. Conditions continued to worsen. With every step they sunk into knee-deep mud. Thorns and sharp grass tore at their clothing and skin. Mosquitoes circled in thick clusters around them.

"Okay," Nick muttered, "This suit is officially ruined."

* * *

><p>Renard had returned to his home in the swamps. Outside, the blank faces of the infected surrounded his simple hutch. He waited for the arrival of the survivors. His instructions to his friend had been clear, and he knew that he would fulfill them. Renard sat at a flimsy table, tuning into what the swamp had to tell him. He could feel its every movement; every sway of a branch, every hop of a frog, every death of an insect as it was caught in a spider's web. Then he felt something different. Something that violated the natural flow of the swamp. The clumsy footfalls of what could only be a lost group of humans. Renard chuckled in triumph. His friend had succeeded. Now he could begin with the second phase of his plan. He stood up from his table and picked up his cane. He opened the door and sorted through the crowd until he found the one he desired.<p>

"Coon-dog," he called. The hooded menace looked up and made his way over to his master. "Go in that direction," continued Renard as he pointed his cane to the north, "You'll find the survivors. I want you to bring back the girl in the red shirt. Do you understand?" The hunter looked at his master nervously. In the green glow of his eyes Renard could see uncertainty. The Bokor knew why. The swamp was unfamiliar territory to the hunter. He probably wouldn't be able to track as well. Renard knew exactly how to remedy this. Reaching into his bag the Bokor retrieved a peculiar tooth. It resembled the curved tooth of a canine, but much larger. In one swift motion Renard stabbed it into the hunter's arm. He cried out in alarm and pain, but he soon grew quiet. Then he erupted in a flurry of pain. He howled miserably as his body began to twist and distort itself. Muscles shifted, bones realigned, and rusty orange fur began to sprout from his grayed skin. The teeth grew sharp as the jaws stretched out. The ears became pointed. The changed creature let out a series of sharp yelps and screams. Renard grinned at his work. He pointed his cane once more. The creature bounded off into the uninviting swamp.

* * *

><p>Coach had barely spoken since they'd entered the swamp. He refused to give in to the terror that lurked in his mind. It was trying to free itself and act out. Coach wanted to run out of the bog; to get as far away as possible from it. But he couldn't. He was with his friends, and they had decided to go through the swamp. He found some comfort in the fact that he wasn't alone. Maybe they would survive this ordeal. His train of thought was broken when a piercing, bloodcurdling cry echoed throughout the area. The survivors stumbled as they heard it.<p>

"Relax," said Ellis, "Just a fox. I heard 'em all the time back when I was a kid. You know this one time Keith had to get rabies shots 'cause a fox bit him-" The cry sounded off again. It was closer this time. Before anyone could move a gangly creature burst from the bushes nearby. It was wearing a hooded sweatshirt.

"Hunt-" began Louis. But in the brief moment that it stood still they could see that it was not a hunter. Although it wore human clothes, the shape was different. It seemed bent over and crooked. The hands bore long sharp claws, and were covered in rust-colored fur. The legs seemed to be that of a canine's. Its green eyes glowed in the darkness of its hood. In an instant the creature sprung into action. It jumped on Francis, knocking him into a tree trunk. Rochelle swung a branch at the creature, but it merely caught it and snapped it in half. It then used the broken stick to hit her across the head. As Rochelle put her hand over where it had struck her, the creature threw the branch at Zoey. It struck her head on, and Zoey fell over. Coach plowed into it in an attempt to knock it down. The creature staggered slightly, but remained standing. In a flash it raked its claws across Coach's arm. Ellis, Louis, and Nick grabbed its shoulders. The four of them struggled for a moment, but the screeching creature was squirming out of their grasp. Nick made a grab for the hood and pulled it down. Immediately a muzzle full of sharp, yellowed teeth snapped at him. Everyone cried out in surprise at the bizarre fox-like face of the monster. Coach froze in his tracks. In the confusion the creature broke free of their grasp. It pounced on Zoey and threw the girl over its shoulders. Before anyone could do anything about it, it bounded off back in the direction from which it had come. Ellis let out a cry of rage and frustration, and took off after it.

"Ellis!" called out Rochelle. But he didn't look back. His eyes were locked on the mangy creature even as it started disappearing from view. Eventually he lost sight of it all together. Angry at the world and at himself, he fell to his knees, partially out of exhaustion, partially out of despair.

* * *

><p>Zoey awoke, and was able to see nothing but darkness. At first she feared she had gone blind. But then two green eyes opened up only inches from her face. The pungent odors of rotting flesh and stale cigar smoke wafted into her nostrils. The same voice she had heard at the furniture store sounded off.<p>

"So I heard you like Zombies," it said, "If that's the case, you're gonna love me." Zoey had been through unimaginable horror during the past few months, but nothing compared to the terror she felt at that moment.

"What are you?" she whispered. The voice laughed bitterly.

"Once I was like you," replied the voice, "A simple human being. But I'm much more than that now. Hold on a minute." Zoey suddenly saw a flash as a match was struck. For a split second it lit up the room, and she was able to see her captor. He was tall and skeletal, and was wearing what had once been an elegant black suit. Now it was tattered and torn. What little flesh that still clung to his skull was greenish-brown and had a leathery texture. He had no nose, only a ragged triangle. Inside of it Zoey could see the green shine of mucus. His lips had long ago been eaten away; his yellowed teeth were exposed in a permanent grin. Perched upon his head was a tall, weathered top hat. In his left hand he clutched a crooked cane, in his right he held a cigar. After he lit it he blew the match out, and once again they were in darkness. The only light came from the glowing eyes and the smoldering tip of the cigar.

"What do you want?" whispered Zoey.

"What every man wants," replied the voice, "Sex, money, alcohol, and power." Zoey felt the being exhale in her face. The already unpleasant cigar smoke was combined with the horrid stench of his breath. She could smell the decomposing organs inside of him, as well as the festering blood that had congealed in his veins.

"No need to be fearful," said the voice, "I couldn't hurt a pretty thing like you. Besides, it's been a while since I've had any company."


	6. Rum

"Does anyone wanna tell me what the Hell that thing was?" Nick grunted as he trudged through the water of the swamp.

"It looked like a damn werewolf," Francis said irritably, "I hate werewolves."

"Rougarou," Coach muttered blankly. The others turned their heads to look at his solemn face. He hadn't spoken since the attack.

"What?" asked Louis.

"A Rougarou," repeated Coach, "That's what it was." He sighed as he sat down on a fallen log. "Nothin' makes sense anymore."

"Guys," Nick said, "Not to be mean or anything, but we have to go find Ellis before he gets himself killed." But the others were still looking at Coach, as though they were expecting him to continue explaining.

"Coach," breathed Rochelle, "You've been acting weird all day. What's going on?" Coach looked her directly in the eye.

"I know who Bokor Renard is."

* * *

><p>"Care for a drink?" Renard asked as he poured himself a glass of rum. Zoey looked at her rotting captor. He had lit an ancient kerosene lantern on the table. The dim, flickering light cast eerie shadows about his face, as well as the rest of the shack. She shook her head in response to he question. Renard looked at the dusty bottle. The faded, yellowed label was peeling off.<p>

"It's from Haiti," he said, "Just a little somethin' to remind me of home." His neck creaked as he tossed his head back and emptied the glass down his throat. Zoey heard it trickling noisily down his dusty esophagus. Renard's lipless face somehow managed to smile at her. "Is there anythin' I can do to make you more comfortable?" Again, Zoey shook her head, even though the rope around her wrists was digging into her skin. The creature shrugged and sat down. A scratching came from the outside window. Zoey turned and looked at the hideous faces of the infected as they peered into the shack. Among them was the fox-like muzzle of the creature that had abducted her. She could hardly believe what she was looking at. It called to mind a time when people still believed in ghosts and demons that stalked the night; fears that were so old that they predated civilization.

* * *

><p>"So what you're saying is that this Renard guy is a wizard?" Nick asked dubiously.<p>

"A Bokor," said Coach, "Someone who uses Voodoo for evil."

"And he's also a Zombie?" continued Nick, "An actual Zombie?"

"That's what my Aunt said."

"Are you aware of how crazy you sound?"

"I know it sounds crazy," snapped Coach as he stood up from the log, "Don't you think I know that?"

"Everyone stop it!" Rochelle said as she stepped in-between the two, "Arguing won't get Zoey or Ellis back!"

"I'm betting on Coach," Francis muttered to Louis, "That Bokor guy has a werewolf."

"Look, let's just find Ellis and get out of here," said Nick.

"What about Zoey?" Louis asked. Nick frowned grimly, but his eyes remained cold.

"I'm sorry about your friend," he said quietly, "But we both know-"

"Know what?" Francis said as he angrily made his way over to Nick, "That she's dead?"

"That thing took her off to God-knows-where-"

"You listen here," snarled Francis, "I don't know who the Hell you think you are, but we don't leave anyone behind!"

"Do you think I want to do this?" Nick cried as he threw his arms up in the air, "I don't! I feel just as bad as you do! But there's nothing we can do to bring her back!"

"There is something," said Coach. Both Nick and Francis turned to look at the aging athlete. "We can go after her."

"How do you even know she's alive?" Nick asked, "How do any of you know?"

"That thing," began Coach, "Could've killed us all if it wanted to. But it didn't. It just kicked our asses and took Zoey."

"So what does that prove?" Nick said angrily.

"It means Renard wants her alive," Coach said, then added grimly, "But I don't know if he plans to keep her that way."

"Then what are we waiting for?" said Francis as he picked up a large, heavy branch.

Ellis was still kneeling on the ground when he heard the soggy footsteps behind him. He looked around quickly expecting to an infected or something even worse. Instead he saw his friends, all of them holding large, heavy sticks.

"What are you guys doing here?" Ellis asked bitterly.

"We're going after Zoey," said Rochelle. She could tell by the red around Ellis's eyes that he had been crying. Probably everyone could, but nobody said anything. Nick helped Ellis to his feet.

"I saw it go that way," Ellis said as he pointed a finger to the south, "It just kept goin' strait."

"Then that's the way we're going," said Louis. He handed Ellis a stick.


	7. The Gator's Revenge

"Your friends are coming," said Renard.

"How do you know that?" Zoey asked. Renard laughed. The noise sounded horrible to Zoey. It was cruel and deriding.

"I can feel 'em coming closer. I knew they'd come for you." Zoey realized with horror why she had been abducted in the first place.

"You're using me as bait!" she cried.

"How could I not?" Renard asked, "Everyone likes you. Especially Ellis. He'd give anything to get you back." The Bokor's words gave Zoey a terrible feeling. She knew that Ellis liked her, and felt absolutely monstrous that she was leading him to his doom.

"What do you want from us?" she cried, angry and frightful of her captor. Renard shrugged and took a drag on his cigar.

"You killed part of my horde," he said, "Wouldn't you be mad if I killed some of your friends?"

"They're not your friends!" shouted Zoey. Her fear was gone, and she felt nothing but rage for the skeletal being. "They're your slaves!"

"A technicality," Renard said. He exhaled a large puff of smoke. It floated to the top of the shack, looking like an angry storm cloud.

* * *

><p>The alligator felt the rain run down the groves of its scaly back. As the rain continued to fall, the easier the creature found it to swim. Soon it was able to slither through the water with ease. The reptile pushed forward through the swamp to pursue its targets. They would not escape this time.<p>

* * *

><p>Ellis looked up as lighting streaked across the sky. A short time later a loud clap of thunder echoed throughout the swamp. Heavy sheets of rain started falling from the sky, pelting everything in sight. Lightning flashed across the sky like skeletal claws. The winds howled like an enraged beast and echoed throughout the swamp.<p>

"What the Hell?" Francis cried at the sudden storm.

"It's Renard!" Coach shouted over the gales, "He's trying to keep us from Zoey!" The downpour continued unrelentingly. Everyone could feel the water rise as the swamp began to flood. They staggered forward in spite of the powerful gales and heavy rain. Suddenly a loud noise echoed throughout the flooding wetland. It was distorted by the raging weather, but it was audible all the same. Louis looked behind him to see a long, reptilian shape coming towards them. The knew the moment he saw it what it was.

"Alligator!" he cried. His companions turned around to see the monstrous creature. It was grinning as thought to say there would be no escape. Francis gave a yell of defiance and held out his stick to defend his friends. As the reptile slowly edged forward it opened its jaws and let out a deafening roar. Francis slammed his stick down on the creature's head as it charged. The others came rushing forward to aid Francis. The alligator thrashed its enormous body around, stirring up the rising water and splashing it into the faces of the defending humans. Francis retaliated by trying to stab it in the eyes. His stick only struck the thick, armor-covered head of the beast. The alligator rushed forward in fury, angrily snapping its jaws. Nick cried out as it knocked him into the rising waters. Louis quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him out just as the reptile was about to lock its jaws around him. The creature hissed as they beat at its scaly back with their makeshift weapons. The creature suddenly whipped its tail at coach. He barely had time to dodge the powerful blow, and the pointed tip of the alligator's tail sliced across his leg. He stumbled as he tried to remain standing. Rochelle reached out to keep him from falling, but the alligator suddenly rammed its snout beneath her It used its head like a springboard to throw her into the deeper water behind it. She screeched as she fell into the waters. The alligator made a satisfied grin as it moved toward its prey. Without warning Francis dove into the water. His companions could only watched in shock and horror as the biker swam out to the monstrous beast.

* * *

><p>Francis felt the tips of his fingers touch the rough skin of his reptilian nemesis. He didn't really know what he was supposed to do, but some instinctual desire to save Rochelle had overtaken all rational thought. He leapt out of the water onto the back of the alligator. Immediately the beast flew into a fitful rage. Francis struggled to hold on as it began to roll its body. The beast was too big for him to wrap his arms around, but he managed to grab a hold of the scaly ridges that ran down the length of its back. It took a few seconds for the beast to realize that the biker wasn't coming off. It tried a different tactic. It dove beneath the water. Francis had to close his eyes as he sank into the murky depths. He was able to feel the creature moving forward, and knew it was heading for Rochelle. Francis began to crawl up the back of the beast, climbing the ridged back like a rock wall. The alligator began to make its way to the surface. Francis felt his hand touch the bulging jaw muscles that made a ring around the neck of the beast. With only moments to spare, he pushed himself up on the alligator's head, and wrapped his arms around the jaws of the monster.<p>

* * *

><p>Rochelle was terrified out of her mind as she saw the reptile surface. But she was shocked to see Francis with his arms locked around the creature's snout. The skin beneath the jaw bulged as the alligator let out a furious bellow. It shook its head back and forth, trying to throw the biker off. But Francis refused to let go. Rochelle watched in amazement as the two struggled in the muddy waters of the swamp.<p>

* * *

><p>The beast bellowed in fury as it wildly thrashed about. One of the humans had wrapped his arms around its jaws, and it couldn't open them. The creature did everything it could to try to force him off, but it seemed impossible. The human just wasn't letting go. The beast tried diving beneath the water to see if it could drown its enemy. But it was thrashing around so wildly that it couldn't stay below for more than a minute with out having to return to the surface for air.<p>

* * *

><p>Francis was once again forced beneath the surface of the water. He tightened his arms around the snout of the alligator. As he did, he felt something cold and metallic press against his skin. As he realized what it was, Francis felt like an idiot. He thought he had lost it when they had been thrown out of the boat, and had never bothered to check. But he would be unable to retrieve it with his arms around the alligator. He faced a dire decision. He could risk letting go of the creature and try and get the object from his vest, or he could hold on and drown while he waited for some other opportunity. As the creature began to surface again, Francis let go. He used his legs to push against the alligator's head and propel himself a short distance away. As he did so he reached into the pocket of his vest, and took out the object.<p>

* * *

><p>The beast let out a roar of victory as the human let go of it. It surfaced and looked around for its attacker. It spotted the human breaking the surface of the water only a few yards away. The creature wasted no time in charging at the human. As it moved to clamp its jaws around him, the human suddenly dived beneath it. The beast suddenly felt pain shoot up its right side. It bellowed in pain and thrashed its body around. The enormous pain it felt overpowered its desire for revenge. The beast began a hasty retreat away from its enemy, and swam hurriedly away into the stormy swampland.<p>

* * *

><p>Rochelle saw the beast swimming away, and looked around for Francis. She suddenly saw the biker surface, gasping for air. In his hand he clutched a large, bloodied jackknife.<p>

"Damn it," he said coughed, "Don't ever let me do anything that stupid again." He was so tired he could barely keep himself afloat. Rochelle wrapped her arm around his shoulders and began to paddle the two of them to the shallow water.

* * *

><p>Zoey cringed in surprise and fear as Bokor Renard suddenly let out an agonized screech. His lanky body convulsed for a split second, and he almost fell to the floor. He managed to catch himself on the table before he collapsed. Then, as quickly as the pain had come, it passed. He stood up and brushed himself off. But he had a furious look on his face. He whipped his skull around and glared at Zoey.<p>

"It seems your little friends have hurt a dear acquaintance of mine," he said darkly. His green eyes flashed in the dimly lit shack. The Bokor slammed the tip of his cane down on the creaking floorboards. A ululating howl suddenly broke through the night. With horror, Zoey realized what Renard had sent after them.


	8. An Old Friend

"I didn't know you could wrestle alligators," Louis said as he helped pull Francis from the water.

"I don't," Francis said, "I hate alligator wrestling." Rochelle helped him to his feet.

"You gonna be alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," Francis answered, "I'll be okay. I just need to rest a minute." He leaned against a moss-covered tree. The rain had stopped, but the swamp remained flooded.

"How'd you fend that thing off?" asked Nick. Francis held out the jackknife. It was still covered in the alligator's blood.

"What the hell?" said Nick, "Where'd you get that?" Francis shrugged.

"I guess I always had it. Must of forgot about it 'cause I don't really use it. Here, I can sharpen your sticks if you want." Nick handed him his makeshift weapon. Rochelle watched as Francis carved the end into a point.

"Thank," she said. Francis shrugged once again.

"Whatever," he responded.

"You guys still remember which way that thing went?" asked Coach.

"No way I could forget," said Ellis as he pointed his finger south.

* * *

><p>The Rougarou was on the hunt. It was determined to appease its master, and that meant killing all the humans it could. It ran with the speed of a fox through the thick underbrush of the swamp. All sorts of smells wafted into its nose. The scent of rodents and other animals tempted it to go hunting. But it knew the punishment for failure, and so was not about to abandon the task at hand. It was only a short period of time before it picked up the smell of the humans. A few minutes after that, it could hear them. The creature slowed down and slunk low in the shrubs. They were coming towards it. All it would have to do is wait.<p>

* * *

><p>Nick held his stick out in front of him the way he imagined a cave man would have during a hunt. He was very afraid, but like everyone else he did not show it. As he looked out over the stinking bogs he felt a sort of emotion he was unused to feeling. It was a sort of respect for nature. This place, this foul-smelling wetland, was a sort of window to another world that had been lost to the ages. From the time when small creatures first crawled out of the primordial ooze to seek out a new life on land. It was an ancient and mysterious place, feared and coveted at the same time. Nick's thoughts were interrupted as Coach spoke.<p>

"Sh!" he said. Everyone froze and looked at him. He was pointing to a large cluster of thorny bushes. At first everyone failed to see what he saw. But then the bushes moved slightly. Had anyone else seen it they would have dismissed it as just another animal. But the survivors had been through too much to take any chances. They stood still, not moving a muscle.

* * *

><p>The Rougarou tensed up as the humans stopped moving. They were looking directly at him. He was sure they couldn't see him, but somehow they knew he was there. His mind raced to think of a way to deal with the situation. If he tried to retreat, he'd have to explain to his master what had happened. That would not be pleasant. In the end, he decided that attacking them would be the best option. They knew he was there, but so what? He was fast and strong, and he could probably beat them.<p>

* * *

><p>A moment of silence seemed to hang over the survivors. The natural noises of the swamp fell quiet as they waited for whatever was going to charge out of the bushes. They could hear their hearts beating. Suddenly, the bushes exploded in a flurry of torn clothing and rusty-red fur.<p>

"Rougarou!" shouted Coach. The howling creature bounded through the water up to the survivors. They held out their sticks menacingly. The Rougarou jumped into the small cluster they had formed and pounced on Louis. The office worker fought back, holding the snarling creature off with his stick. The other survivors jabbed their weapons into the back of the Rougarou. The creature let out a yelp of pain, but suddenly whipped around and lashed its claws out at Nick. They tore through his jacket and cut into his skin. Nick cried out as he fell over in pain. His friends retaliated fiercely, but the Rougarou managed to yank Coach's spear out of his hands. The canine-like beast snapped it in two and threw the halves away. It kicked with its back leg and sent the former athlete tumbling into the water. Francis leapt at the canine creature, but it managed to throw a punch into his face. The Rougarou kicked the dazed man on top of Louis, who was scrambling to get up. Rochelle gave a cry of fury as she thrust her stick at the creature. It grabbed the other end, and the two began a fierce battle for the makeshift spear. Suddenly the creature pulled the stick over its head, throwing Rochelle on the ground behind him. It turned around to face her, but suddenly felt a stick press against its throat. Ellis stood behind it, trying to hold it back with his spear. The creature snarled and fought against him, but everyone knew it would break free in a matter of seconds. It suddenly pulled itself out of Ellis's grip. It turned to face him and gave a terrifying snarl. Ellis thrust his spear at the beast, but it stepped out of the way and raked its claws across his arm. Ignoring the pain, Ellis swung his spear sideways and knocked the Rougarou off its feet. He jabbed his spear to the ground, but the fox-creature rolled out of the way at the last second. It leapt back to its feet and jumped on Ellis's back. He cried out in alarm as it dug its nails into his shoulders, forcing him to the ground. It tried snapping its jaws at the mechanic, but Ellis put up too much of fight. He refused to remain still. The Rougarou was suddenly forced off as Ellis rolled over. It was back on its feet as Ellis crawled for his spear, which was only a few feet away. It snarled as it pounced at him. Too late. The creature's glowing green eyes widened as Ellis held the spear upwards. The Rougarou screamed as it fell upon the sharpened point, impaling itself completely. The creature slumped over as it died. Ellis let go of the stick, and the corpse dropped into the water. He gasped for air as he stood up. Fighting in this humidity was exhausting. By now everyone was getting to their feet. Although the fight seemed like it was an hour long, it was actually only a few minutes.

"Whoa," said Francis as he gingerly rubbed his jaw, "They teach you how to fight like that down here?"

"Naw," responded Ellis, "Me and Keith learned that the time we went to went on this road trip to Ohio, and there was this ninja convention or somethin', and Keith was all like-"

"Never mind," Francis said as he looked at everybody to see if they were okay. "We're gonna need more sticks."

* * *

><p>Bokor Renard gave a savage screech of pain and anger as he clutched his chest. Zoey smiled and felt slightly relieved. His reaction must of meant his assassin had failed. Renard's head swiveled to look at Zoey. He caught a fleeting glimpse of her smile as it disappeared from her face.<p>

"You think they're beating me, don't you?" His voice was eerily calm, although his green eyes blazed with rage. He stomped over to her, his cane clunking noisily against the floor. "Listen here, girl. You ain't seen nothin' yet. All this means is I'll have to deal with 'em myself." His near-fleshless face seemed to sneer. "Don't believe me? Watch this." Zoey watched fearfully as he held his cane like a scepter. An breeze entered the shack, and the little green glass eyes on the serpent-like cane glowed. It was suddenly no longer inanimate. The head opened its mouth and hissed viciously, exposing long, needle-like fangs. Renard sliced it through the air, and there was a sudden noise like nails being dragged across a chalkboard. Zoey watched in awe as a small hole appeared in the air. Through the hole was a bright purplish light, and in the light were dozens of shadows. Although no explanation was given, Zoey knew what this was. Suddenly the hole snapped shut. Bokor Renard laughed wickedly.

"The spirit world is just fulla people who wanna come back," he said, "They'll do anything', hurt anyone to get here. All it takes is a little wave of my cane, and I can bring 'em here or send 'em back. Of course they can't do much there, but they don't know that. I just use 'em for affect." He started for the door. As he opened and walked through, he turned and called back to Zoey. "It won't be long now 'til your friends arrive. I'll just stand out here and wait for 'em."

* * *

><p>Zoey sat alone in the shack, staring at the wall. All she could think about was how much she wanted to get out of her. Outside she heard the horde of infected mulling about. But then she heard another noise. It was a quiet sound of faint footsteps. She looked around the dim shack. The steps stopped. Zoey shook her head. She hadn't had much to drink today. Maybe it was getting to her. As she once again lost her self in looking at the wall, the steps started up again. She didn't move. She felt a sense of coldness come over her. As she breathed she began to see her breath. Her heart began to race. She had heard about these kinds of experiences, and knew exactly what this was. A scent of tobacco came wafting in Zoey's nose. It was not the pungent stench of Renard's cigar, but smelled more like cigarettes. She could only watch in silence as some invisible thing slowly made a series of scratches on the wall. They were crude and crooked, as one might expect from a child first learning how to write. Zoey's eyes widened as she saw the first letter. B… The scratches moved on to the next letter. It was a single line going downwards. I… The next two letters were identical. L…L…<p> 


End file.
